


maybe leave something secret behind

by wolfchester



Series: another universe [2]
Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Deep Conversations, F/M, Rated T for language, and for some kind of forgiveness to happen, friendship with an undertone of love, i just need them to be friends again, mmmm just how i like it, the bedroom scene take two, wow it's all just so fucked up and i love them....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 23:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfchester/pseuds/wolfchester
Summary: allie is sick of harry feeling sorry for himself.





	maybe leave something secret behind

**Author's Note:**

> (this is like my imagining of how that bedroom scene could have gone.)
> 
> i am #hallie traaash, people. they're the new bellarke, i swear. so much potential for some of that good guuud character development i love it. 
> 
> this work will be part of an (at least) three part series about these two. i am notoriously bad with updating but the other two fics are almost finished so we'll see soon if i ACTUALLY stick to my word
> 
> the song in the title is 'alan' by perfume genius - his 2017 album is absolutely stunning and gives me hallie vibes forever and ever amen

Harry doesn’t show up to the past three town meetings. He skips dinner two nights in a row. He’s got three unexplained absences from work shifts at the cafeteria.

Allie and Harry are not exactly friends. But she’s worried about him.

That, and having someone like Harry refusing to participate in this society she’s tried to hard to create and maintain means it makes it acceptable for others to slack off. And that’s a no-go.

Clark and Jason offer to accompany her to the Bingham house, but Allie waves them away.

“It’s Harry,” she says. “What can he do to me that he hasn’t already done?”

 

* * *

 

The Bingham house is surprisingly clean for having twenty teenagers living in it. Mickey probably has something to do with that. Allie can imagine the wide-eyed kid eagerly putting together a cleaning schedule to make sure Harry Bingham’s house stays nice and fresh.

(Look at her calling someone the same age as her a ‘kid’. How ridiculous. She’s only seventeen.

She feels twenty years older.)

The doorknob turns easily. Perhaps the door hasn’t the need to be locked because the smell of the room works as a good enough repellant to any unwanted visitors.

Allie resist the urge to pinch her nostrils to protect herself against the abhorrent stench wafting from Harry’s bedroom. It smells like stale potato chips, whiskey that’s sunk into the carpet, and damp bathroom towels. When she opens the door that’s exactly what she finds.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” she whispers under her breath as she steps around piles of clothes.

The body all rolled up in blankets on the bed doesn’t make a sound as she walks in. Harry watches her with half-lidded eyes.

“What? No ‘good morning’? No ‘I’m so happy to see you’?” she jests, crossing her arms over her chest and standing tall. “Why’re you skipping work?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Harry mutters. His voice is scratchy and his words stilted, like a car starting up that hasn’t been driven in a while. Dark purplish bags hang around his brown eyes, irises darker than she’s ever seen them. His hair is long and greasy. The colour from his full lips is gone. He looks pathetic.

It’s a little unnerving seeing Harry like this. She is so used to this boy full of life, an outrageous character, always egging her or Cassandra on about something. Always ruffling feathers. Always with a drink in his hand.

Now her sister is dead and the alcohol is all dried up.

He blinks at her slowly and raises an eyebrow as if to say _what do you want?_

And what does she want? “This is pretty fucking sad, Harry, even for you.” There’s a bite to her voice and Harry flinches at it. “How long have you been sulking in here?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“A few days. I don’t know.”

“Have you been eating? I haven’t seen you at the cafeteria.”

He rolls over onto his back and rubs at his eyes. The stained black jumper he wears rides up on his hip bones exposing pale, veined skin. Allie sucks in a shallow breath.

“Harry,” she says, his bony frame already giving her an answer. “Tell me you’ve been eating.”

“‘M not hungry,” he mumbles.

She sighs and sinks down onto the bed next to him. She came in here with a whole script to yell about the importance of getting up when you’re down. A reprimand at his laziness. A motivational speech aimed at heaving his ass out of bed and back into life in New Ham. Seeing the stubble on his cheeks and the emptiness in his eyes forces her to change her tune.

“Kinda weird that the last time I was here-”

“-Look, Allie, I just don’t feel like seeing anyone, okay?”

He turns his body away from her like he’s really expecting Allie to get up and walk away. She responds by taking a pillow and shoving it up against the headboard, then shuffling up on the bed to lean against it.

“I’m not leaving,” she says. “We need to have a talk.”

Harry’s voice is quiet. “I don’t need to hear whatever bullshit Will wants you to say to me. About how I’m a disgrace. How I’m an embarrassment, or that I’m lazy. I fucking know, okay?” It’s the most he’s talked to a person in days.

“Okay, first of all: Will doesn’t make me say anything. I’m in charge here. Got it?” Silence from Harry indicates the affirmative. “And fine. We won’t talk about the fact that you’re obviously depressed.” His body twitches at that word, reacting involuntarily. She notices and continues, softening her voice and relaxing further into the bed.

“I get it, okay? You’re scared. We’re all fucking scared. Do you think I want any of this? _Fuck_ no. But Cassandra died, and I was the closest thing there was to her, and that was that. It’s terrifying.” Harry still makes no move to respond. _Fine,_ she thinks, _I can talk for hours._

“I know it’s been hard. Especially for you. I know your dad died not too long ago. I’m sorry. I don’t want to say ‘I know how you feel’ because everyone’s pain hurts different. But I think out of anyone here, I get it. I do. And I wish I had an answer for you. About all this.” She closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

Cassandra’s death formed a black hole in her stomach. A star collapsed and left it there. Some days, her feet feel less heavy. She can go on with her life without experiencing crushing grief to a debilitating extent. She’ll distract herself with governing a whole fucking town. And then someone will mention her sister’s name, or she’ll remember what happened, and the weight comes rushing back.

Despite all that heaviness, Allie feels strangely light with Harry. Safe. Harry’s a hot mess. He’s at his lowest point. She doesn’t see him as a threat anymore. She sees him as a sad, lonely boy who has abused power and caused destruction and now just...lies here in his bed, afraid to face the outside world.

And for some reason, this makes him easy to talk to.

“I feel like you think I hate you,” she whispers. Harry stirs but doesn’t turn over. Allie looks over at him -  at the dark hair tucked behind his ears, the rise and fall of his chest, the space between his neck and shoulder where she can see his pulse moving. She is almost overwhelmed by a need to run her fingers through her hair and see if it’s just as soft as she remembers - even if his hair is lacking its usual lustre.

Allie is finding that it’s actually quite a lovely feeling being here. Just sitting beside someone and voicing all the thoughts that have been tumbling around the expanse of her mind for months. Sharing the same air. Comfortable, she slides down onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. Cool autumn sunlight filters through the window blinds, catching specks of dust in rays of light. It’s been a while since she has taken the time to be still, to be introspective. It feels good.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” she continues. “I couldn’t. I’d be stupid to, I think. I’m not naive enough to really believe that all that awful shit you said about my sister actually caused her death. Dewey was fucked up already.”

Harry’s silence is becoming frustrating. She reaches over and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, can you talk to me? This one man show is getting kinda boring.”

He obliges and rolls over, mimicking her position, staring up at the ceiling fan. Her hand stays on his shoulder. The fabric of his jumper is soft to the touch. There’s something in the atmosphere - gravity, maybe - that forbids her from shifting.

In a move wholly unexpected, Harry slowly reaches across his chest. His fingertips brush hers.

Allie steals a glance at him and finds his eyes to be rimmed with red like he’s just been crying. Breath catches in her throat. His hand presses down over hers, his palm warm and comforting. She should hate this. She really should.

Instead, she rubs her thumb gently over his shoulder blade. Harry turns his head slightly toward hers.

“How long do you think it’ll take before you forgive me?” he says, voice raspy. Allie swears her heart breaks a little. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m aware that’s practically impossible. But I just- I need to know-” he sighs, and it sounds deep and tired. “I need to know that if you ever plan on forgiving me - when?”

Feeling bold, Allie looks straight at him. At his desperate, pleading eyes. His handsome face. “That’s a confusing question, Harry.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The funny thing is, he actually looks it.

“I’m trying really hard not to be bitter,” she concludes. “I don’t want to be bitter towards you.”

Harry nods once, like he gets it. Then he lets go of her hand and stares back up at the ceiling.

“I miss my mom,” he says out of the blue. “Is that bad?”

“Why would that be a bad thing?” she asks. “I miss my mom, too.”

Harry clears his throat. “I thought Kelly would have told you, but alright. Turns out my mom and her dad were having an affair.”

Allie spits out an abrupt, cynical laugh. “An affair? What the fuck?”

“I know, right?” Harry says, half an irrational smile on his face. “This town couldn’t get more fucked up if it tried.”

“You’ve got that right,” she huffs.

They lay in silence. Allie is hyper-aware of how close they are. How she can feel the heat radiating from his body. How their knees are barely not-touching. It’s intimate and awkward and wonderful.

“Please come back, Harry.”

After a few beats, he says, “Okay.” And that’s enough. They watch flakes of dust dance through the air for a while. It feels like something has changed.

“Are we friends again?” Harry asks. He has that half-smile as he says it, so she’s not sure if he means it.

“I don’t think we were ever friends in the first place, Harry Bingham.”

And they both know that’s not the truth.


End file.
